


Finding

by phandomoftheowl



Series: Prologue Verse [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomoftheowl/pseuds/phandomoftheowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Of course, Merlin would never lie- wouldn't be able to if his life depended on it.' Something stops him. It occurs to Arthur not for the first time since that lakeside night that outside of being his manservant, Arthur really does not know much about Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding

  
  


They are on patrol, Arthur and the knights (and Merlin by extension, of course). Cenred's kingdom is has been in a state of anarchy ever since their king's downfall. Since Cenred had no direct descendents, the fate of his kingdom is uncertain, leading to an increase in bandits and vagabonds trickling into Camelot's borders. It's a couple of weeks after Samhain, and the weather is a bit chilly. Very chilly actually, but Merlin has finally found a spell to keep warm. One that lasts for hours on end, this time without side-effects such as burnt finger tips and singed eye-brows.

 

He's actually quite pleased with himself because for once, Arthur is colder than Merlin, and it's brilliant watching Arthur scowl on the log, huddled in his armor while Merlin jumps around the camp without complaint and a grin on his face. He likes to think of it as payback for all the winters Merlin's suffered through with only a thin woolen coat and even thinner tunic while Arthur has sat there on his horse, smirking in his many layers of cloak, armor, thick undercoat, and warm tunic.

 

One of the squires looks at him with an expression that reads _your_ _mental affliction is clearly showing_. Merlin only shrugs and sets about preparing supper. Afterward, when all the eating is done and bowls are cleaned and put away, Merlin sits at the edge of the camp facing the forest while the knights behind him indulge in songs they dare not sing around King Uther.

 

He slips away once he is certain no one really wants or needs him there. Well, tries to at any rate. Lancelot follows him a few minutes later when he's sitting on a log in a small clearing, rolling the dragon figurine his father made for him between his fingers.

 

“That's a very fine carving,” Lancelot compliments. He sits next to Merlin on the log. “I didn't know you could chisel.”

 

“I can't,” Merlin dismisses. He runs a finger along the wing span of the small dragon. “It was a gift.”

 

Lancelot continues to look at the dragon. He would like to know more, but if Merlin won't say then it really isn't his place to ask.

 

“Watch,” Merlin says. He look through the trees surrounding them. Satisfied at finding no one, he turns back to the dragon figurine. With a few whispered words and molten gold glow of his eyes, the previously very still dragon flexes its wings.

 

It might be one of the most beautiful thing Lancelot has ever seen. Such a simple thing, a plain dragon fluttering about his head, but it is wonderful. Lancelot thinks back to all the sorcerers he has seen condemned in the months he has been a knight of Camelot; some worthy of the king's wrath while others were not. Those worthy had done some terrible deeds; killed innocents, taken children, destroyed livelihoods with their magic. Yet, sitting here with Merlin's magic encompassing him and the dragon and even the very soil beneath his feet, he is reminded of just how beautiful magic can be.

 

Merlin waves his hand, almost carelessly and the dragon flutters back onto his lap. The moment it does, something in the warlock shutters. Only moments before his expression had been open and filled with joy. Now it is closed, and Lancelot wants to hit himself for not seeing it before. Everyday, Merlin goes about the castle with a constant smile - cheerful around everyone, amused around Arthur - and he accepts his position as a man who must live in secret. Accepting it does not make it enjoyable though.

 

Here and now with magic shining in his eyes, pouring through his fingers is what makes Merlin happy. That, and perhaps being around Arthur.

 

The silent, sorrowful moment is gone as quickly as it comes. Before he knows what is happening, Merlin is standing up and the dragon is safely tucked into the folds of his coat. “Come on. His Royal Ass-ness will be wanting to know where I've gone.”

 

Lancelot follows Merlin back to the campsite. He wants to keep Merlin talking, ask him about that day two weeks ago when Arthur gave him the afternoon off. Gwen had explained, but it wasn't the same as hearing from Merlin himself that he's feeling better now. Many of the knights are slipping into their bedrolls, Prince included. Lancelot sees Merlin slip into his own bedroll.

 

It is only a few seconds later that he hears rustling in the trees beyond the clearing. He immediately checks the bedrolls. No, they are all there. It might just be an animal, but Lancelot doubts it. By now, Arthur is sitting up, peering at the trees, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The snapping of twigs grows closer. No animal would come so near a fire. Lancelot moves swiftly and silently toward the intruder. Another knight stands behind him.

 

When Lancelot is certain the other man is only a few feet away, he pounces. Shocked, the other man can do nothing but fumble and slip. He is weak and thin and doesn't stand much of a chance against Lancelot, who drags him into the light of the fire. It is then he notices the front of the man's - boy, really, he's so young - tunic is soaked in blood. He collapses against Lancelot, half-unconscious.

 

Somewhere behind him Merlin jumps up and shouts, “Gilli!” He shares some of the weight with Lancelot. “It's all right, I know him.”

 

“Mer-lin,” the boy, Gilli, whispers as Merlin lays him on a bedroll.

 

“Merlin.” Arthur's voice demands explanation. Lancelot wouldn't mind one either.

 

Gilli looks pale in the firelight. He has lost a lot of blood, it is possible he may not have long to live. It is a miracle he has survived this much in the first place. Merlin carefully peels the bloody tunic off the boy. He ignores Arthur, unsurprisingly, and instead he orders the nearest knight to get healing supplies he keeps in his satchel courtesy of Gaius.

 

“It's okay. I've got you. Gilli, do you hear me? I've got you. Talk to me.” Gilli does not look like he wants to talk to Merlin. His eyes are slipping closed. “No! No, you can't close your eyes yet, just - just hold on.”

 

Merlin's fingers fumble as he takes off the rough bandage Gilli has made out of some rough material that cannot be good for an open wound. Blood starts trickling through Merlin's fingers when the material comes off. He all but shouts for some kind of cloth at the dumbstruck knights. Whoever this Gilli is, it is apparent he is Merlin's good friend. Lancelot gives up his cloak.

 

“No... time,” Gilli whispers. He raises a hand and pulls Merlin down by the collar.

 

“There's always time - Lancelot, hold the cloak, I have the salve he needs. Just - wait Gilli, then you can tell me who did this. Just wait. Here.” With tenderness Lancelot has never seen of Merlin except around an injured Arthur, Merlin spreads the salve over Gilli's wound. It is not bleeding as much as it was before, but there is still danger of infection. Merlin unwinds fresh bandage from his medicine bag. “Hold him up,” he orders Lancelot, and dresses the wound. “There. You'll be fine now, all right? Tomorrow we'll go to Gaius. He'll have-”

 

Gilli stops Merlin with a hand on his wrist. “No time, Merlin...” His voice is weak with exhaustion and blood-loss. “They... searching... sorcerer...”

 

The Prince immediately snaps into attention at the mention of a sorcerer. Arthur comes closer. “Who are they?”

 

Merlin gives Arthur a glare Lancelot never wishes to be on the receiving end of. “Let him rest.”

 

Gilli shakes his head. “Merlin... they're... Cam-Camelot.” Gilli gasps a shuddering breath. “Looking for - for -”

 

“For?” Arthur prompts. “Who is looking for whom?”

 

“Arthur, please, let him -”

 

“Came to the Druids. Two ladies... a High priestess and - and the... the Lady Mor-”

 

“What did they want?” Arthur asks before the boy can finish his thought. It is clear who these ladies are.”

 

Merlin glares some more at Arthur and says to Gilli, “You can tell the rest later, after you've-”

 

He speaks the rest directly in Merlin's ear, too soft for anyone else to hear. With that last unintelligible word, Gilli falls into slumber.

 

Merlin stares at Gilli with an expression of utmost horror. He snatches his wrist out of Gilli's slackened grip.

 

“What is it?”

 

Merlin looks up at Arthur with wide, unseeing eyes. Lancelot has never seen Merlin so... terrified. He is possibly the bravest man the knight has ever met, and if something scares Merlin - because he is, he looks so scared - it must be horrific indeed.

 

Arthur shakes Merlin by his shoulder. “Merlin? Merlin!”

 

The warlock snaps out of her reverie. “Wh- what?”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“What who said?” Merlin asks with a dazed voice.

 

“The boy, Merlin. What did he say?” Arthur repeats, irritated at Merlin's slowness.

 

“No-nothing. Nothing at all. I mean, I didn't understand what he said. It was spoken too softly,” Merlin answers. He puts on a forced smile. “We should sleep. Gilli can - he can have my bedroll.”

 

“Merlin -”

 

“It isn't healthy to keep him without Gaius' treatment for long, Sire. We should be up early and heading back to Camelot.” Arthur growls futilely, trying to gain Merlin's attention but the warlock is already pretending to sleep.

 

()o()o()o()

 

 

“He's hiding something,” Arthur states to Guinevere, Lancelot, and Gwaine in his chambers.

 

They are all in different corners of the room. Gwen on a chair at his table while Gwaine is resting half his body against the window sill. Lancelot is by the door standing guard and Arthur is by the fireplace, the fire warming his right side.

 

Merlin is... not around. He is supposed to be cleaning the stables at any rate, but Arthur doubts his manservant is actually where he should be. Arthur has no doubt he is with that boy, Gilli, getting the full account of what he had been trying to convey to Merlin last night in the woods. Arthur has tried everything from orders to angry tantrums to outright death threats to get the information from Merlin, but he maintains he did not hear Gilli's words clearly.

 

So far Arthur has sent servants every half hour to Gaius' chambers since this morning to check if Gilli is awake. It is past sunset now and every time they have come back with negative news. He wouldn't be too surprised if he were to find out Gaius was lying.

 

“Of course he is,” Gwaine snorts. “You might call him a coward all you like, Princess, but he isn't easily scared. You saw him last night, we all did. Whatever that boy Milli or whoever told him - it has him terrified.”

 

“But why would he hide it? Merlin's never been anything but honest.” Gwen turns her distressed face to Arthur. “You know he would never lie to us.”

 

He hates this, hates bringing Gwen into this furthermore, but she is Merlin's friend and it is only fair she be here with them while they try to sort this out. Arthur cannot take Gilli's warnings of last night to the court until he is certain of the whole message. To hear Morgana's name again so soon when the King has only just begun recovery would bode unwell for all. His fragile mental health might never allow him to go on from this setback. It is best left between the knights there last night and the people in this room today.

 

Arthur wants to agree with Gwen, it is on the tip of his tongue. _Of course, Merlin would never lie - wouldn't be able to if his life depended on it._ Something stops him. Unbidden to his mind comes that image of Merlin sitting lakeside with a young woman as if they were long lost lovers. Maybe they were. It occurs to Arthur not for the first time since that lakeside night that outside of being his manservant, Arthur really does not know much about Merlin. He doesn't know what the man does in his spare time, whether or not he's ever been to the kitchens for a late night tryst with one of the maids, or if it would be a maiden at all and not a stable boy. Sometimes, Arthur is sure he doesn't know Merlin at all.

 

“Do we, though?” Gwaine asks the question for him. “Until two weeks ago, His Highness here didn't even know Merlin had met his father.”

 

Gwen turns a confused gaze to Arthur. “I thought Merlin said he never knew his father.”

 

It proves Gwaine's point. Arthur truly knows very little about Merlin. He says as much to Gwen, who bristles. “He's our friend. Has been for years and it shouldn't matter if he lied about his father or - or some woman you saw sitting with him or even what he is hiding from us today. He's Merlin. He's our friend and we have to trust him.”

 

“But,” Arthur voices before he knows what he is saying. “Does he trust us?”

 

Gwen has no answer to that. No one does. Arthur turns away from the the three of them. It is little more than shaming to realize that the man he thought he knew well for over four years has been is nothing but a fraction of the true man. Like he has only skimmed the surface with Merlin and there are layers yet to be seen let alone reached and touched.

 

There is a knock at the door. Lancelot looks to Arthur for permission. With a nod from Arthur, Lancelot opens the door partially and takes the message from the person outside. The door shuts with a click when the conversation is over. He turns to the three other occupants in the room.

 

“Gilli is conscious.”

 

Arthur wastes no time in going up to Gaius' chambers. He hears the others behind him. “Where is he?”

 

For a man who has been lying to the Prince of Camelot for a better part of the morning, the old man looks eerily calm. “Ah, sire. Yes, yes, Gilli is quite all right. No infections so he'll make a full recovery. I take it you want to ask him a few questions judging by the army of servants calling at my door all morning.”

 

He's doing the Eyebrow Thing again. The one where it makes Arthur feel like a seven year old who's just cut of the heads off Morgana's favorite dolls all over again. It is a Thing that says _I know what you're doing and nothing can get past me and my amazing eyebrow_. Arthur truly hates it.

 

“Yes. Well.” He looks around the workshop so he won't have to look at Gaius. “Where is he?”

 

Gaius points at the stairs leading up to Merlin's room. “Through there, sire.”

 

Gilli looks better. At least, he does not look as pale as he did last night. He tries a small bow while still laying against the bed. “I've been expecting you, your highness.”

 

That is unexpected. If anything, he had thought Merlin would have warned Gilli, told him to not reveal anything to Arthur. “Have you?”

 

“You want to know what I told Merlin last night.” His gaze is unwavering, strong despite his weak state. He has a kind of invisible strength that makes Arthur grit his teeth. It reminds him of another day when another tiny, pale peasant boy had glared at him through unimpressed blue eyes and challenged him.

 

“Yes.” Arthur will not pretend at subtlety when it will be met with a brick wall.

 

“Unfortunately, the message was not meant for you. It was for a friend. A personal matter,” Gilli dismisses. He still looks at Arthur though, like he knows what Arthur will say next.

 

“You mentioned sorcerers. It is Camelot's matter if she is threatened in any way.”

 

Gilli looks satisfied. Arthur now wishes he had not said what came to his mind. This all feels like a trap somehow.

 

“I can force you,” he bites out. When all else fails, brute force wins. “I am the Prince of -” Again, the minute he says the words, he regrets them. The pale boy looks far too pleased with himself. He has a secret smile on his face.

 

“You can kill me, for all I care. But -” he adds, halting Arthur's protests. “I can tell you one thing. The last part you did not hear last night, then you will leave me to recover in peace. Sire.” He tacks the last on with a mocking bow.

 

Arthur agrees. He cannot help it. If it is a trap, he might as well fall in it.

 

“Alliance,” Gilli says. “The Alliance has been formed.”

 

“Alliance?” Arthur frowns. It feels slightly anti-climactic. He had been hoping for a name. The name of the one this supposed 'They' were searching for. “What alliance? Alliance between kingdoms?”

 

“Only, the Alliance, Prince Arthur.”

 

“What is the bloody Alliance?” Arthur shouts.

 

“More to the point,” Gwaine interrupts from by the high window in Merlin's room. “Why is Merlin galloping away out of the gates on _your_ horse?”

 

Arthur curses in his private stables. The stallion saved for him and him alone is gone. The stable boys are huddled in the corner, terrified of the Prince's volcanic mood. “He's taken the fastest horse in the land.”

 

“He - he said he be doin' some chores for ye, m'lord,” the bravest of the boys stepped forward and announced. “We wouldnna let him go if - if his highness didn'-”

 

“It's not your fault,” Gwen soothes the boys.

 

“Prepare three horses,” Arthur orders the boys. To the others he adds, “We're going to find him.”

 

“Four,” Gwen pipes up. “Prepare four horses.”

 

The look she gives Arthur is enough to stop him protesting. He cannot expect her to stay behind when Merlin might be in danger. If the roles were reversed, Arthur knows Merlin would be out looking for Gwen at this moment too. Arthur nods in approval. The boys quickly get to work while the riders prepare themselves for the journey.

 

“Sire,” Lancelot interrupts just as they are climbing onto the horses. “Don't you think it woucl be wise to wait for Merlin to explain?”

 

“No.”

 

()o()o()o()

 

Unlike last time, Merlin's trail is not hidden. Even in the near dark it is clear which direction Merlin has gone. Whatever it was Gilli told him yesterday, whatever the forming of the Alliance means... It has Arthur's manservant worried, a feat on any regular day. But what could have been so terrible Merlin did not want Arthur knowing? Alone, without protection of any kind. He must have it must- have scared him so much.

 

Otherwise, Merlin wouldn't - he wouldn't have left like he did... would he?

 

Arthur gulps against the sudden choking feeling in his throat. He doesn't want to think of the possibility that Merlin has gone to _her_ again. The woman by the lake. The sorceress who is apparently a better friend to Merlin than him. More than just a friend. More than... more than anything Arthur can mean to him. Because Arthur cannot.

 

He has Gwen. He loves Gwen. He _chose_ Gwen.

 

Guinevere is always there, close and ready when needed. Arthur can depend on Gwen to be with him in times of distress like the past few months have been. Gwen could have left after Morgana destroyed everything, but she did not. She stayed, worked in the castle doing odd jobs because she knew Arthur would need her. He needs someone like her by his side for when he will be King. Gwen is wonderful, dependable, and lovely. But most of all she is safe. With her, Arthur's heart is safe because it knows that no matter what Gwen says now, her heart belongs to another. It is so easy to love someone when you know she loves another already.

 

Merlin, on the other hand, is dangerous. Being around him makes Arthur scared, not because he is afraid Merlin might harm him physically - that is too ridiculous for words - but because of what Merlin makes him feel. When Gwen is around, Arthur does not feel the need to shout out in frustration or throw things. His chest doesn't blaze like an inferno nor does his stomach flip like he is falling off the tallest tower in the castle. Merlin is there one day and gone another, doing things only he knows about. He has secrets he does not trust Arthur with. Merlin makes him falter, stumble and loose his thought and - he suspects, although he would never admit it - his mind. But...

 

But the thing about Merlin is - thing is, Arthur never knows what the other man is thinking. Gwen wears her thoughts and her heart on her sleeve. Arthur can always tell what she wants from him. Merlin only pins the latter proudly. His mind is closed to Arthur, eyes guarded around him all the time, like he has something to hide. Not that Merlin never voices his opinions, oh no, he is full of those. Biting remarks, cutting insults, mocking smirks are all Merlin's forte and he hides none of them from Arthur. He hides the important part of himself instead. Secrets he keeps close to his chest all the while claiming he is an open book when he is not. Never was and will never be.

 

Guinevere will be Arthur's Queen one day, and yes she might leave him for the one she truly loves, but at least Arthur can be sure she loved him to the best of her ability. Merlin will leave too. Arthur knows it deep down in his bones. He knows Merlin will leave and Arthur will never have the satisfaction of knowing why. It is that which scares him more than anything. It is why Arthur forces himself to give his heart to Gwen while in reality it has always been with Merlin.

 

Up ahead, Arthur hears the neighing of Merlin's – his – horse. They have caught up with him. Arthur silently signals the others to halt and walk the rest of the way to follow Merlin. One thing is for certain; wherever they are, it is not by any lakes.

 

There are voices up ahead. Arthur can see campfire and tents through the trees. The patterns on the tents looks similar to Druid tattoos. Arthur's first instinct is to go in and break up this refuge camp, but he has learned better over the last year. He decides to wait and watch Merlin.

 

What the hell is Merlin doing in a Druid camp anyhow?

 

Merlin walks onto their campground casually with a curious expression on his face. He walks to the nearest Druid, a young woman with light-colored hair and a suspicious glare. Merlin says a few words, he is too far away for Arthur to hear, but whatever he says, it is sufficient. The woman's expression clears of any anger to be replaced by astonishment and - and... awe? Arthur watches incredulously as she hastily stands to her feet and bows – bows! - to Merlin before running off toward the largest tent.

 

By now, Merlin has caught the attention of half the camp. The Druids all turn to stare and point at Merlin, who looks increasingly uncomfortable at the unwanted attention. Arthur thinks it might be because he's told them is Arthur's manservant. A stupid move in his opinion. Druids have no love for Arthur and will probably not hesitate to kill Merlin. It is a good thing Lancelot, Gwaine, and he are here after all.

 

The woman emerges from the tent just then at the heel of a man Arthur has met before. He is the same person to whom Arthur entrusted Mordred and took the Cup of Life from only a few months ago. The Druid Elder stands a few feet away from Merlin. They stare at each other silently, almost as though they are sizing each other up. Arthur expects them to start talking any minute now, but they don't. Only continue to stare. It is rather frustrating and not a little annoying to watch what happens to be a very silent conversation.

 

The entire camp is silent, actually. Even the fire seems to have stilled. Suddenly, Merlin plunges one hand into his satchel and retrieves something shiny. Something that looks very much like the Cup of Life. Arthur gasps loudly along with the rest of the Druid camp, only, he is outraged. The Cup is meant to be in the vaults of Camelot, deeply hidden and safe from anyone trying to lay their hands on it. Only Arthur has the keys to the small chest that holds the Cup. It is not Merlin's to give away.

 

The Druid Elder apparently has more sense than Arthur would have thought, because he shakes his head at Merlin and stares some more. Merlin stares back for a second or so, cocks his head to the side and after a beat places the magical object back within his bag. The Elder smiles at him before looking at everyone else.

 

Finally, he speaks out loud, “We will have a humble feast. Emrys will join us.”

 

This seems to be some sort of permission for everyone to resume talking. The campers begin flitting about gathering pots and pans and building pits for fire. The Elder leads Merlin away from the hubbub and into the tent he emerged from, so Arthur cannot hear what they are saying at all.

 

The Prince turns to his companions. “We have to walk around, get closer.”

 

“Sire,” Lancelot tries to object once more. “Merlin seems safe here. Perhaps we should-”

 

“No. We go around. We find out what we came here to find out,” Arthur states sternly.

 

And find out why Merlin thought it was within his rights to bring the Cup of Life out of Camelot. By all rights Arthur should ride back and give the order to have him executed, not only for the Cup but also for associating with Druids. Hell, he should have done that weeks ago when Merlin spoke with the lady by the lake.

 

They turn around, stumble out of the bushes to find a path around the camp only to be greeted by five Druid men torches. They look unhappy but not surprised.

 

“I think, Arthur Pendragon, that you should come with us,” the Druid in the middle tells him. Arthur's hand automatically goes to his sword. It doesn't miss the man's attention. “You will not be harmed, nor your friends.”

 

Arthur does not want to. There are three of Camelot's knights and five unarmed men. It won't be too difficult, yet... yet he is too curious for his own good. Arthur glances to Gwen for advice. Usually it would be Merlin, but he isn't here right now. Gwen gives the minutest of nods. Arthur inwardly sighs. He nods to the Druids to take them, but keeps his fingers resting on the pommel of his sword, a silent threat.

 

()o()o()o()

 

Arthur hears voices, calm but forceful in their tone. There are more than two people in there.

 

“Wait here,” one of their captors says. He ducks in the tent. Arthur can imagine what he is saying, what the expression of the Elders must be. What Merlin's expression must be, although the latter is difficult to fully determine.

 

Arthur expects one of the Elders to give the command, so it surprises him when Merlin is the one to say, “Let them in,” instead. Their captor beckons them into the tent. Arthur enters first, followed by Gwen, Lancelot, and Gwaine.

 

Merlin is stood on the far side of the tent, directly opposite Arthur with a small, sheepish yet exasperated smile on his face. There are three Druid Elders with him.

 

“Come,” the Elder Merlin was speaking to outside says. “Sit. You are welcome here, Arthur Pendragon, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gwaine, my Lady Guinevere.”

 

Gwen blushes, but doesn't say anything. Merlin walks closer to them. Arthur's relief at finding him safe is immense even though he knows it is foolish to think the Druids will have harmed him. It makes his heart feel a little lighter, but he cannot show it. So he gazes stonily at Merlin instead.

 

“You're right on time,” he says, his smile faltering a little.

 

Arthur is too flabbergasted by the statement to do anything but gape. Gwaine ends up speaking for him.

 

“You knew we were following?”

 

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I told the maid when to call for you. I knew Arthur wouldn't put it off after keeping him away for the whole day. The message Gilli gave you, it's only a an abbreviated one, but he had to give you enough information to keep you intrigued but little enough that Arthur wouldn't go to Court. I also knew Arthur would ask for me as soon as Gilli gave the message and find out from the stable boys what I had done.”

 

“So it was a trap!” Arthur accuses. “You - you wanted us here!”

 

It is perfect, Arthur muses; Merlin's trap is executed with the finesse of a warrior.

 

“Yes,” Merlin replies calmly. “And before you start shouting, no I haven't brought you here so the Druids can capture you.” Arthur tries to keep his face blank, because yes, that was going to be his next sentence. “I want you here to explain what Gilli told me yesterday. It is better to do so away from the castle. I also needed to see the Druids.”

 

“Why?” he asks. Why are you here? Why have they given you a council of the highest order? Why did he bow to you? Why have you done everything you have so far?

 

Arthur is unsure which question to ask first so he says the one word, hoping it will encompass everything. Merlin winces as though he knows what exactly Arthur is asking. He glances sideways at the Elders. They nod and, one by one, leave the tent.

 

“Sit?” Merlin asks weakly. Gwaine, Lancelot, and Gwen do while Arthur stands his ground and stares hard at Merlin. “Right. Well, where to start?”

 

“How about you start with why you deemed it prudent to bring the Cup of Life out of Camelot's walls?” Arthur grits out.

 

“A show of good faith to the Druids. But there are things far more important than that. No, listen, Arthur, this is important.” Arthur cuts off his own retort. It can wait... for now. “The Druids have ancient prophecies,” Merlin continues, staring at a point behind Arthur's head as if remembering something said long ago. “They warn of a time when forces of evil will unite to take over all of Albion and destroy her Once and Future King.” Arthur bites his lip. He had been about to reveal to Merlin that he has heard those words before. “An alliance between a Druid boy and a witch. And now...”

 

“The Alliance has been formed,” Gwaine quotes.

 

“Yes,” Merlin admits. “They are going from Druid colony to Druid colony, gathering forces of magic. Creating an army. It is, in some ways, more deadly than an immortal army. This one - Arthur, they're driven by a thirst for vengeance. For them, it's personal, and magic can flatten entire armies with just a few words. Regular soldiers don't stand a chance.”

 

Arthur nods, he understands what Merlin is trying to say. The people who will join this army, they are the remaining family of the countless men, women, and children Uther Pendragon has executed. They will not be fighting for a king, but for their own satisfaction. It is that which makes them more deadly than Mor- Morgause's army of immortals.

 

“But we can fight,” Gwaine states. “We thought the immortal army was unbeatable, and we proved ourselves wrong.”

 

Merlin shakes his head in frustration. “Don't you get it? Don't you understand? Magic... it can cripple a man over a hundred feet away, break all his bones with a few choice words our gut his intestines out with the the right thought. You've seen, first hand, what it can do, how it corrupts. You cannot fight a war against an army of magic users. Except...”

 

“Except what?” Arthur asks sharply. He is willing to do anything to stop another war at Camelot's gates for the third time in less than two years.

 

“If the Druids were given hope that one day...” Merlin finally looks Arthur in the eye, he takes a deep breath before going on. “That one day a man - a King - will set them free and grant them safety. Someone who understands that magic is only as evil as the person who wields it.”

 

Arthur listens to him, and he imagines. Arthur imagines a Camelot without the fear of magic, without fear of magical attacks made in vengeance. He thinks of a Camelot where those who use magic for good co-exist with those who do not use magic at all. He remembers that blue ball of light in that cave years ago when he was searching for the Morteus Flower. He thinks of the unicorn, so white and pure in its beauty. He remembers Anhora, a man who only wanted to keep those creatures safe. Arthur thinks about poor, scared Mordred and the Druids who healed Sir Leon in his time of need. Then there is Grettir, the keeper of the bridge, harmless in his intentions and wise in his suggestions. Lastly, he remembers Freya, the lady by the lake, Merlin's friend. A sorceress.

 

This is not the first time these thoughts have occurred to him. Surely not everyone with magic is as evil as his father suggests. If it can save lives instead of destroying them, or bring peace as Merlin suggests, is it not his duty as Prince and future King of Camelot to ensure this for his people?

 

However... there are problems standing in the way of this glorious image. Arthur chooses his next words carefully, because not doing so would be treason. “Say there is such a man who is willing to bridge gaps,” Arthur says to Merlin. “Why should they trust him? Why, when all they have ever known is suffering and death.”

 

“They will if this man knows someone - someone whom the Druids consider the most powerful sorcerer. Someone they will listen to no matter what.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes at Merlin. “That is all well and good, but I doubt there is a single sorcerer not out to destroy Camelot. Especially not one as powerful as you suggest.”

 

The tent is quiet while Merlin worries his lower lip. His eyes flit from Arthur to Gwen to Gwaine nervously. Merlin's eyes are wide and almost pleading. He opens his mouth once, twice before speaking in a low, strained voice. “Arthur.” A deep breath. “Arthur, I need to know that you understand magic is good, and that it doesn't have to destroy every time, that it can bring life too.”

 

It seems an odd request, so Arthur gives Merlin a look that conveys as much. Instead of saying something witty and completely inappropriate, his manservant continues to look at him with wide appealing eyes. “Yes,” Arthur says, unnerved by Merlin's intense gaze. “I realize it.” How can he not after all he has seen and done and regretted?

 

Merlin moves forward. Arthur's heart races, and he wonders whether this is it. If this is the moment Merlin will reveal his secret. That unspoken barrier that always keeps them apart not matter how friendly they become. Merlin's determined look gives him hope that he trusts Arthur. That his manservant finally trusts Arthur with that hidden part of himself.

 

However, his elation turns to confusion when Merlin whispers unintelligibly in his palm. He fixes Arthur with a nervous look as his hand stretches outward, to Arthur. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Merlin opens his palm.

 

There, sitting in the center are flames. Bright red, magical flames.

 

Maybe secrets are best kept unsaid.

 


End file.
